(no subject)

[thewidewideworld]

There are advantages to having the gift of spá. One of them is being able to remember other paths his life might have taken.

Sinric is perched at the bar with a notebook, writing furiously. A glass of wine in one hand, he's dressed in one of his other-selves' lovely slimming vests, humming a song to himself as he writes.

Company is most very welcome.

Comments

[psychowolf]

Clay enters the bar.

Clay see's his friend.

Clay smiles slightly.

Clay walks over to said friend, "Good Afternoon"

Sitting down he waves over a waitrat.

[thewidewideworld]

"Clay." Sinric smiles warmly, looking up from his notebook. "How are you?" he takes a sip of watered wine, clearly having forgotten it was there.

[psychowolf]

He orders a water and burgers from the waitrat.

"I'm doing well" as well as he can with Elena still being mad at him.

[thewidewideworld]

He seems to take a moment to shake himself into the present. Or to this reality anyway. "When last I saw you, thinks were very ill with you. And with your lady?" He asks out of honest concern.

[psychowolf]

"She survived" his grin was broad and the joy real. Until it falls, "But she hates me for having bitten her. Or at least she thinks she hates me."

[thewidewideworld]

"That's wonderful! Even if she's still at odds with you, she lives. And thus, there is hope."

[psychowolf]

He smiles, "Yes. And I know she would love being a werewolf, being part of our family if she had been able to chose it." that's what bothers him, "But there is nothing to be done about it now."

[thewidewideworld]

"She has time now. And that can be all one needs to find a path and a place that suits a person."

He glances at his notepad, thinking of Sam and Sona.

[psychowolf]

Clay notices the glance, "What are you writing?"

[curlytop]

George is never going to get over the novelty of coming to the bar and ordering...literally whatever he wants. He's taken to trying to think of outlandish foods. As outlandish as he can given he's...generally uncultured and untraveled.

He somewhat dwarfs the bar stool he slides onto as he asks, "Bar, could I get...oh, what was it called...a croque madame? And...I don't know. What do you eat with a croque madame? Give me whatever you eat with a croque madame."

What you eat with a croque madame turns out to be a salad of some kind, and George isn't even bothered because the sandwich literally has a fried egg on top. He glances around, grinning, looking for someone to share his glee with.

[thewidewideworld]

"That looks very appealing indeed." Sinric looks up and smiles, sweeping an errant curl back from his face.

[curlytop]

"Doesn't it?" George asks. "Who puts on egg on top of a sandwich? The French. And that's why their food is so famous."

Fried eggs: the secret to all French cuisine.

[thewidewideworld]

"In your time, perhaps. In my time the Franks are known for their wine more than their food. It was still rather dull when I was there."

[curlytop]

"People still like their wine," George says. "They probably hadn't figured the egg thing out yet in your time."

He smiles, warm and friendly. "I'm George, by the way. George Lovelace. Scotland, 2009. Also, I'm dead. Just to get that right out there."

It's a new thing he's trying. He's not sure it's any less awkward.

[thewidewideworld]

"Sinric," He smiles softly, offering a delicate, long fingered hand. "784 by the Gregorian calendar most used here. Currently in the foothills of Rome."

"I'm sorry for your death, but I'm glad you've found your way here."

He gesture to his own glass. "Speaking of wine, would you like some?"

[curlytop]

George takes the offered hand in his broad, warm, callused own. His eyebrows raise. "You're the furthest back of anyone I've met, I think."

Sinric is taking his death much better than most people do. George might have to try this technique again. "That's about how I feel about it too." He's starting to miss home and family and friends quite a lot, but mostly he's glad he's here.

"I would love some wine," he says. "That seems right for a French sandwich."

[thewidewideworld]

"There are very few from Earth who are from much earlier than I. With the exception of Teja. He was a legendary story before I was born."

He smiles at that. "You seem the sort to seek the best of a situation. And Milliways has much to commend it."

Sinric ask the bar for a glass of a light white wine, one that suits the flavours of egg and cheese.

[irish_vagabond]

Cassidy shuffles downstairs, wearing some old sweatpants and an even older t-shirt. He hasn't shaved for a couple of days. Just too much effort.

After guzzling down the last of his whiskey, he sets the empty bottle on the counter.

"'Nother one, if y'please," he says to the Bar, and a full bottle appears in exchange for the empty one. "Thanks, darlin'. Oh, hey, Sinric! How are ya, luv?"

His normally cheerful grin is feeble and watery, and doesn't reach his bleary eyes for a mile.

[thewidewideworld]

"I'm well, Cassidy." Sinric tilts his head, looking worriedly at his friend. "Are you? That's quite a lot to drink, even for you?"

[irish_vagabond]

"Nah, don't worry. I'm pacing myself."

Well, now he is. Maybe not a couple days ago.

"I'm glad that you're well! You look well! Really! That's a nice vest you're wearing, you look very nice in it, it really suits you-- uh, nicely. Ah, fuck, who'm I kidding, I feel like shite."

Cassidy slumps onto a barstool and puts his face in his hands.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric brushes a soft and gentle hand down Cassidy's back. "Would some food help, or some blood?"

[irish_vagabond]

"Probably," he sighs.

That would mean both.

He lifts his head only to prop it up on his hand.

"I've not eaten anything decent in a while, I guess. Just haven't been awake much to feel like it."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric orders a plate of greens and spicy meat skewers and a big glass of blood that the bar keeps for her vampire patrons.

[irish_vagabond]

"...I had no idea the bar would do that."

A napkin with a note pops up: donated, free-range, cruelty-free blood

Okay, that makes him laugh a little, but just a little.

Cassidy pulls the glass close, then self-consciously glances around. He looks at Sinric and says, "You don't hafta look if it's too gross."

[thewidewideworld]

"It doesn't trouble me, my friend. But I can look away, if it troubles you so."